


surprises, surprises

by MoraMew



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, KIND OF I GUESS, Knitting, Loom Knitting, Sick Fic, oiboku if you squint, whiny oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraMew/pseuds/MoraMew
Summary: Oikawa pauses in his mission and turns his head to peek into his roommate’s room, tilts his head at the baffling display before him. He might be having a fever dream, he thinks. It’s a hallucination and he’s still in bed, curled up and gross and conked out. Because while Bokuto may surprise him constantly, this just doesn’t seem to align with his interests at all.Or maybe it does. Who really knows?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	surprises, surprises

**Author's Note:**

> just polishing off a fic so i can clear it from my WIP folder

Oikawa is sick. Stuffed up nose, low grade fever, tired and achy and hating the world  _ sick _ .   
  
He groans from underneath the blankets and rubs his face against the mattress cover, huffs to himself as he opens his eyes to glare across the room. It’s five in the afternoon and he’s supposed to be getting ready to go meet up with Iwaizumi and Suga for the horror movie marathon at the theater. There’s no chance of him going when he feels like garbage, when his head gives a little throb at every too loud sound.   
  
This is complete and utter  _ bullshit _ .   
  
Oikawa huffs again and curls up tight, closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.   
  


* * *

  
It’s a little past six when he wakes up again. Oikawa wakes up too hot and sweaty, cringes at himself and the gross sheen coating his skin. He feels filthy and tired and, honestly,  _ fuck  _ everything. This  _ sucks _ .   
  
It takes him a little while to get out of bed, but he eventually crawls out with a grimace. He feels vaguely dizzy when he stands and realizes that he hasn’t really ate all day, hopes that they have pizza in the fridge or something quick to eat.   
  
They do. It’s that shitty pizza from across the street that Kuroo only gets because he has a big, gay crush on one of the cashiers. Oikawa usually refuses stooping so low as to eating it, but as soon as he sees it his stomach grumbles and he stuffs a piece into his face because it’s the only thing they have that he doesn’t have to cook and he’s not up to ordering in.   
  
The pizza is, predictably, awful.   
  
Awful but good enough. Oikawa eats it and wipes his greasy hands on his sweatpants, stumbles to the bathroom and strips down for a shower. Fifteen minutes of boiling hot water and spacing out between washing his hair and body leaves Oikawa feeling minorly better and he makes his way back to his room almost feeling human.   
  
New pajamas help with that feeling. He still feels like shit, but he doesn’t want to die as badly and comfy and clean clothes makes him want to be a little less pathetic. Their living room is clean for once and Oikawa intends to make use of it without his roommates being home to take up the couch or squabble with over what show to watch. He’s going to be a sick and sleepy lump on the couch and drink too much juice while watching an alien documentary and it’s going to be good,  _ dammit _ .   
  
Or, well, that’s what Oikawa thinks. He’s determined to enjoy the couch and peace and quiet and leaves his bedroom with every intention of being a sick little heap in the living room. His intentions get waylaid, however, when he walks past Bokuto’s bedroom to find the door open about half-way and gets distracted when he sees a flash of something bright in the corner of his eye.   
  
Oikawa pauses in his mission and turns his head to peek into his roommate’s room, tilts his head at the baffling display before him. He might be having a fever dream, he thinks. It’s a hallucination and he’s still in bed, curled up and gross and conked out. Because while Bokuto may surprise him constantly, this just doesn’t seem to align with his interests  _ at all. _   
  
Or maybe it does. Who really knows?   
  
Oikawa blinks and watches his roommate for a moment before shuffling over to the bedroom. He pushes the door open more so he can lean against the doorframe and watches curiously as Bokuto continues on with his little activity.   
  
He’s knitting. Or, Oikawa  _ thinks  _ it’s knitting? He’s not sure. He thought knitting involved pointy needles and not these round things with little pegs. But Oikawa’s not sure what it would be called then if it isn’t knitting. Crochet? No, that’s something different. Loom...loom weaving? No, that doesn’t seem right.   
  
Oikawa tilts his head and watches, fascinated, as Bokuto tugs black yarn through tiny pegs with careful and easy precision. It’s so shocking to see his huge “I toss shots back like they’re nothing and have broken many a pinky with my spikes and have thigh muscles bigger than your head” roommate hunch over a small, plastic hoop and hum to himself as he hooks yarn and tugs on it, smiles down at whatever he’s creating. Oikawa thinks Bokuto is humming along to BLACKPINK’s “Whistle” and this all feels so absurd and disorientating.   
  
Maybe he  _ is  _ having a fever dream.   
  
Oikawa pinches his arm to check and wrinkles his nose at the light, annoying pain that it brings.   
  
So. He’s not having a fever dream. Bokuto really is knitting. Or. Whatever it’s called.   
  
But  _ why _ ?   
  
Oikawa blinks and takes a step into the room. It doesn’t catch Bokuto’s attention and Oikawa huffs a little at that, crosses his arms with a small pout.   
  
“What are you doing?”   
  
He says it loud enough so Bokuto can hear it over his music and Bokuto jumps a little, drops the yarn he’s holding and his stick-hook  _ thing _ . Oikawa huffs out a small laugh and then frowns when it turns into a cough, goes back to pouting as he watches Bokuto pushes his headphones back onto his neck and looks up at him.   
  
“Oh, I didn’t know you were home,” Bokuto says, sounding vaguely surprised. He looks the tiniest bit embarrassed and Oikawa watches him rub the back of his neck, allows himself to run his eyes over thick biceps before snapping his attention back to his roommate’s face. “I thought you were going to that movie thing?”   
  
Oikawa shakes his head and walks over to Bokuto’s bed, looks down at whatever he’s making and sniffles.   
  
“I’m sick,” Oikawa whines to him. Sympathy passes over Bokuto’s face and Oikawa relishes it a little, decides to let himself be maybe just a  _ little  _ pathetic. “I feel  _ awful _ .”   
  
“That sucks,” Bokuto tells him, looking like he means it. “You take some medicine?”   
  
Oikawa sighs and sits himself onto the bed, tries to keep from touching at the yarn. It looks really soft and he wants to bury his fingers in it.   
  
“I took the last of it earlier,” Oikawa grumbles. “Tetsu-chan promised he’d bring some more once he’s off work.”   
  
Bokuto hums and there’s a moment of quiet between them, Bokuto watching Oikawa as he sniffles and scrubs his face with his hands. He’s feeling hot again, but he wants to curl back under the covers and sleep. He looks at the plastic ring in Bokuto’s lap instead and points at it, raises a brow.   
  
“So. What are you doing?” Oikawa asks him again.   
  
He could swear that Bokuto almost blushes a bit. A little laugh leaves the man and Bokuto scratches his cheek sheepishly, gives a small shrug.   
  
“I’m, uh, makin’ a beanie,” Bokuto tells him, not quite meeting Oikawa’s eyes. It’s weird seeing him act a bit abashed, but it’s a little cute, too.   
  
Oikawa tilts his head to the side and eyes the yarn, eyes Bokuto and the way his thumb scrapes over the tops of the pegs. He almost seems a little nervous about being caught and it makes Oikawa want to laugh a little.   
  
He doesn’t, though. He tucks his feet under his legs and looks down at the hoop, watches the way Bokuto fingers his pokey stick  _ thing _ .   
  
“Knitting, right?” Oikawa asks for clarification, glancing up at Bokuto again. “Or is it called something else?”   
  
Bokuto blinks at him and Oikawa waits for an answer, sniveling and rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. Bokuto’s licks his lips and then nods, relaxing a little as he cants his head to the side.   
  
“Yeah, knitting. Kind of,” Bokuto confirms. “It’s, uh, loom knitting.”   
  
“I thought knitting needed needles?” Oikawa asks. He’s starting to feel more curious about it now, despite the way exhaustion is quietly blanketing on him once more.   
  
“Traditional knitting does,” Bokuto tells him, licking his lips after. “I, uh, don’t know how to use the needles. I just use the loom.”   
  
Oikawa hums and reaches a hand out, gently runs a finger over a strand of yarn. It’s soft- just as he had expected- and Oikawa wants to bury his face in it.   
  
“Can I watch?”   
  
The question comes out right as the notion pops into Oikawa’s head and he feels a little awkward from it, but mostly curious and sleepy, wanting to spend quiet time watching something that doesn’t require his brain to function too much.   
  
Bokuto looks at him, brows scrunching together in confusion and Oikawa arches one of his own, beating back a yawn. It takes a moment, but Bokuto finally gives a nod and Oikawa smiles a little, scoots over on the bed so he can rest against the pillows.   
  
As soon as Oikawa is comfortable and still, Bokuto picks back the loom back up. It takes a few seconds for him to do anything and Oikawa sends him a pathetic little look to try to get him going, smiles to himself when Bokuto picks up the hook thingy and uses it to move a loop of yarn from one peg to the next one over. He repeats that, slowly working around the loom, and Oikawa watches quietly.   
  
Well, at least for a few seconds.   
  
“Who are you making the beanie for?” Oikawa asks, curiosity nipping at him even if his new, comfy state is starting to make him sleepy again. “Kuroo?”   
  
Bokuto looks at him and he shakes his head, turns his attention back to the loom with a look of concentration as he continues wrapping yarn around the pegs.   
  
“Ah, no,” Bokuto tells him. “It’s for Kenma. I, uh, accidentally stretched his old one out.”   
  
Oikawa snorts out a little giggle, not able to quite stifle it, and he watches Bokuto droop a little in response, push out his lips in a little pout.   
  
It’s cute when Bokuto wilts in that childish way of his, but Oikawa finds himself feeling a little guilty, bites his lip.   
  
“Who taught you?” he asks, attempting to keep Bokuto from falling too deep into one of his sulks. “You...It doesn’t seem like something you would pick up by yourself.”   
  
Bokuto shrugs, pout trading places for something a little self-conscious. That disappears, though, and Oikawa blinks as something nostalgic takes over Bokuto’s face, as big hands pause in their work and fiddle with the hook instead.   
  
“My grandma taught me,” Bokuto tells Oikawa, voice much more quiet than it usually is. “When I was a kid, I had to stay at her house for a little while. I was, uh...I was fuckin’ handful.”   
  
He pauses then, and he laughs a bit, smiles in a way that has Oikawa’s lips curving up as well.   
  
“I was really...energetic,” Bokuto continues, rolling the hook in between his palms now. “Like, off the wall energetic. As bad as Hinata jacked up on energy drinks.”   
  
Oikawa giggles, and Bokuto looks over at him, smiles a bit bigger.   
  
“So, like, my grandma was goin’ nuts,” Bokuto says. “I was hyper as hell and I was little so I kept getting upset because my mom wasn’t there, ya know? It made me...anxious.” He takes a breath then and Oikawa looks at him through eyes that are growing heavier. “Anyway, she noticed that if I had somethin’ to do with my hands and if I was interested enough in it, I would kind of just sit and focus on that for a long time instead of bounce around all over the place. So she tried to introduce me to a hobby.”   
  
The smile on Bokuto’s face grows a little softer and Oikawa feels a warmth in him that he’s sure is not from the fever, holds it close to his heart as he listens to his roommate ramble on.   
  
“At first it was making stuff out of clay. But that was too messy for her. And then drawing, but I got really bored of that really fast. Board games took too long and puzzles just fucking sucked back them,” Bokuto continues, absently ticking the hobbies off with his fingers. “She tried _everything_. I got bored of everything. She tried to get me to crochet, but I sucked so much at it. I did like watching her knit, though. Couldn’t do it with the needles when I tried, but she figured that she’d do a last ditch effort cause I was interested. She ended up buying a cheap little loom from the store and plopped me down in front of the computer, had me try to follow along with a video.”   
  
Bokuto wrinkles his nose a little, but he smiles, shakes his head in a way that Oikawa thinks is fond.   
  
“I sucked at first,” Bokuto tells him with a little huff. “Like, bad. Got upset and threw the thing on the floor. Grandma was kind of sick of me giving up at that point, I think- she made me sit my butt down and try again. Stuck right by me that time and walked me through it. I did better.”   
  
A laugh leaves Bokuto and Oikawa feels the warmth in him flutter, flare gently as he smiles sleepily up at his roommate and tries to imagine him as a little kid.   
  
“It took me three days to finish a scarf,” Bokuto confesses. “It was really shitty, but grandma acted like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. I think she was just happy it distracted me for a little bit. After that, she had me sit down for a little bit each day and work on something with her. I got better at it. Kind of started liking it. When I got to go back home, she had me take the loom and some yarn with me. I...didn’t think about doing it at home. But grandma told mom that she had been teachin’ me and mom told me she wanted me to make her somethin’ so…”   
  
Bokuto shrugs then and Oikawa watches those strong shoulders move, thinks about running his fingers along them.   
  
“I dunno,” Bokuto says, scratching at his cheek. “I made another shitty scarf for mom and she kept asking me for things and I just...kept doing it. Started makin’ projects on my own. Nothing big, but…”   
  
Oikawa hums as he trails off and smiles up at Bokuto when his roommate looks down at him, snuggles into the bed just a bit more.   
  
“That’s nice,” Oikawa tells him- and means it. “A surprise, but nice.”   
  
Bokuto grins down at him, maybe just a bit sheepish, and Oikawa reaches out a hand, pokes Bokuto’s thigh.   
  
“Make me something,” Oikawa demands, voice a little whiny from his cold. “I want a scarf.”   
  
Bokuto eyes him, looking a little uncertain for reasons Oikawa can’t figure out. He nods, though, and his face lights up with one of his patented sunshine grins.   
  
“Sure,” Boktuo tells him. “What color?”   
  
“Gold,” Oikawa yawns out, sleepiness winning over his efforts to stay awake. “The color of your eyes.”   
  
Bokuto blinks and Oikawa manages to catch the surprise on his roommate’s face, the light hint of pink that seems to form on tan cheeks.   
  
Oikawa smiles at that and his eyes fall close, another little yawn leaves him as he gives into the warmth of the bed and the quiet exhaustion his fever brings.   
  
“...I’m gonna nap,” Oikawa mumbles out, curling into the bed some more. “When I wake up, we’ll talk scarves.”   
  
He thinks he hears a little huff from Bokuto, but he thinks it’s a bit fond. A hand touches his hair in a pat and Oikawa lets out a pleased noise at it, grips onto the blanket that Bokuto drapes over him.   
  
“Night, Tooru.”   
  
“Night…”   
  
It falls quiet then and Oikawa drifts off with a smile on his face- warm and comfortable and pleased to have stayed home.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> I just like the idea of Bokuto loom knitting whenever he's anxious.  
> He's not anxious in this fic, but that's a really self-indulgent hc of mine


End file.
